Chapter 4

"Now," Vincent said, his voice calm but laced with amusement, "stop blushing and tell me where you live."

Lyra pursed her lips, trying to ignore the heat rising to her cheeks. She looked ahead as they walked, her fingers still lightly entwined with his. "It's an apartment building called Elmridge Court," she replied.

"It's about a ten-minute walk from here if we cut through the side street. You go past the coffee shop, take the second left, then walk down until you see the stone arch with the ivy-covered gate. That's the entrance."

"Got it," Vincent said, his smirk still present, though now it seemed to soften slightly into something more thoughtful.

Just then, a sharp crack of lightning split the sky, so loud and sudden it seemed to shake the pavement beneath them. Without thinking, Vincent's fingers clenched around hers. His grip tightened instinctively, and his steps faltered for a brief second. Lyra glanced up just in time to see him look away, his jaw slightly tense, his eyes fixed on some imaginary point ahead. Anywhere but her.

Wait... was that fear? Her lips twitched with surprise. Mr. Smug, Mr. Confident, scared of lightning?

She couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her. Without thinking, her thumb began gently brushing the back of his hand, slow, reassuring strokes. "You're afraid of lightning, aren't you?" she asked, her voice soft but teasing. "It's okay. You don't have to be afraid. I'm here."

Vincent glanced down at her, his mouth twitching into a faint smile. "Thanks, sweetie," he murmured, his voice unusually quiet.

Is it weird that I find that endearing? He's always so composed, but that little moment... it felt real. Vulnerable. Human. And kind of sweet.

The moment was tender, unexpectedly so, but it didn't last long.

A sudden blur of headlights emerged behind Lyra, the roar of an engine slicing through the sound of the rain. A car, far too close, splashed around the corner without warning. The wheels skidded slightly on the slick pavement, and it was heading straight toward her.

She didn't even have time to react.

Vincent did.

Without a second thought he reached out, and yanked her toward him. He let go of her hand, his now free arm wrapped firmly around her waist, pulling her against his chest with a jolt. The car zoomed past in a blur of water and noise, missing her by inches.

"Walk closer to me," Vincent said, his voice low and serious, the flirtation gone for a moment. It wasn't a suggestion, it was an instruction.

Lyra blinked, heart pounding in her chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and it took her a second to process what just happened. Her fingers curled instinctively into his jacket, trying to steady herself.

He just saved me... again. For someone who's supposedly annoying, he has a habit of being in the right place at the right time.

"Th-thanks," she managed to whisper, trying to pull herself together.

Vincent didn't let go of her immediately. His hand lingered at her waist, his body angled slightly toward hers as they continued walking, closer now, beneath the falling rain.

Eventually, they reached the iron gate that led into Elmridge Court. The building loomed warmly ahead, golden lights glowing softly through curtained windows. Vincent walked her all the way to the entrance of her unit, not letting go of her hand until they reached the doorstep.

"Thanks for taking me home," Lyra said, brushing a few raindrops from her jacket.

Vincent leaned in, just slightly, enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. "That's not the only thing I've done for you since we met," he said, the smirk returning to his lips, but this time, it was laced with unmistakable flirtation.

Her breath caught. His face was so close, and for a fleeting second, she genuinely thought he might kiss her.

She looked away quickly, cheeks burning. "Thank you... for saving me earlier. From that creepy old man at the bar. And again just now. For saving my life." Her voice softened with sincerity, and her gaze met his once more.

Vincent's smirk faded into something gentler. He reached up and brushed his knuckles against her cheek before cupping it, his touch warm despite the cold. "You're welcome, sweetie," he said quietly, his thumb grazing her jaw.

Then he hesitated, eyes lingering on hers. "I have one last request," he added, almost sheepishly. "Do you mind if I stay until the rain stops?"

Lyra blinked, caught off guard. "Stay... here?"

He gave a small nod, the confidence in his tone returning. "It's not like I'm asking to move in. Just until the storm lets up. I promise I won't make it awkward. Well, maybe just a little."

This is ridiculous, right? Letting him into my apartment? But... he did save me twice. And he is afraid of lightning. I can't imagine him walking home alone.

She crossed her arms, pretending to think. "Fine," she said, tilting her head. "But no funny business."

Vincent grinned. "Define 'funny.'"

.

.

Lyra hesitated for only a second before she finally opened the door wider and allowed Vincent to step inside. The moment he entered, his eyebrows lifted in mild surprise.

"It's hot in here, sweetie," he said, loosening the collar of his damp shirt with a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. "Are you doing this on purpose so I'll be forced to strip for you?"

His voice was soft but laced with playful flirtation, the kind that made Lyra's cheeks flush with a familiar warmth.

Her apartment was small but cozy, clean, organized, and filled with soft, lived-in touches. The walls were lined with mismatched bookshelves, a single potted plant rested near the window, and the faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air: her scent. The couch was a modest two-seater with a knitted throw draped over the back, and a warm yellow lamp cast a soft glow over the living room.

Lyra quickly averted her gaze, stepping away from him as she spoke. "Sorry... I don't have an air conditioner. I'm used to it, but I know it's probably suffocating for you."

Her voice was polite but slightly flustered. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before motioning to the couch. "Sit down, I'll get you a glass of cold water."

She made her way to the kitchen, her bare feet padding softly on the wooden floor.

It's not like I wanted to invite him in... but it's storming like crazy out there. And now he's joking about stripping. God, why does he have to be so confident all the time?

She opened the fridge and poured some chilled water into a glass, taking a deep breath to calm herself. Just give him the water, then maybe he'll cool off. Literally and figuratively.

But the moment she returned to the living room, the glass in her hand nearly slipped from her fingers.

Vincent was shirtless.

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